


Never Speak His Name

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Suicide, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-11
Updated: 2006-01-11
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Percy commits suicide and Ron finds the strength to talk about it even if his family won't.





	Never Speak His Name

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for [Ficathon](http://www.livejournal.com/community/wizard_trauma/8622.html) _42\. Character A loses a loved one to suicide. How does he/she cope?_  


* * *

They begin to lie once the shock wears off. All of them. Your mother seems to do it remarkably well. The rest blush a little when they answer questions, but she tells the story of deception as if she had never spoken a truth in her life.  
  
"We don't know what happened. They think it might have been his heart," she said to those who dare to ask at the funeral. "Maybe something from birth that went undetected."  
  
Has she always lied? After this can you believe _anything_ that she has told you?  
  
Your father… Your role model. He spreads the deceit too. You overhear him speaking to your oldest brother.  
  
"The Ministry agreed to keep it hush-hush. Make sure Fleur knows that it stays in the family."  
  
Soon the façade they were creating for outsiders becomes the truth for them. Even Ginny, the person you had most likely expected to be honest - especially with Harry.  
  
"Yes, Harry, they're sure that it wasn't anything… _dark_. It just… they don't know. Hermione said it could have been carbon monoxide poisoning."  
  
You listen as gradually your brother Percy becomes reduced to being referred to only with pronouns. While _his_ death becomes the ' _unfortunate incident_.'  
  
Eventually, you seem to be the only one who remembers the truth. But you don't speak of it – not to anyone. Not even Harry. And Harry doesn't ask you to because he's your best mate and he knows – he knows that everything they say is a sham.  
  
They stop speaking of _him_ after a few more weeks as if he never existed. So you stop too, wondering if one day you'll wake up and his image will be missing from all of your family photos.  
  
His flat sits untouched for months, waiting for someone to face reality and come to draw his life to a close by packing up his world in a few boxes and storing them in the attic, close to his family.  
  
No one tells you, but you assume that Bill or Charlie or maybe the twins are paying the landlord the monthly rent. You overhear your father arguing with your mother about it in their bedroom.  
  
"Molly, someone has to clear it out. The rent is expensive."  
  
"I'll pay for it then!"  
  
"Please, be reasonable!"  
  
The landlord lets you in easily. Your red hair and freckles are the only identification he needs to trust that you are his brother. You study the man as he leads you up two flights of stairs and unlocks the door to a flat you've never visited. This man was the last person who saw your brother alive, passing him in the entryway on the Friday night before a Ministry official showed up demanding to be let in when the always punctual and professional Assistant to the Minister hadn't shown up for work in four days. You wonder if the landlord has any brothers and if he will owl them or pay a visit to them unexpectedly some time in the near future.  
  
"Didn't seem like the type of bloke…" he comments. "Have a friend that works at St. Mungo's," he adds when you stare at him blankly.  
  
"Yeah? Good for you!" you say. ' _Bastard_ ,' you think, slamming the door and leaving him standing in the hallway.  
  
The flat undeniably belonged to your estranged brother, orderly and perfect in every way, except for the faint, lingering smell of a decomposing corpse.  
  
You feel like vomiting and it feels good. It's the first time you've felt anything since they told you. You didn't hear Bill at first. Or you heard, but your mind refused to process it. He had to repeat it three times before Ginny screamed it.  
  
"Percy drank poison, Ron! He killed himself! What is so bloody hard to understand?"  
  
You asked Bill later that night if Percy had left a note.  
  
"No," he answered solemnly.  
  
You can't believe that he had left this world with something unfinished. "We don't know why?"  
  
"Because he was a self-centered, stupid, fucking prat that only ever thought of himself! That's why!" George answered and no one corrected him.  
  
You stopped asking questions, but never stopped speculating that there might have been a note. Maybe it had been purposely concealed, or what if it had fallen behind or under something in all of the confusion when the Aurors came in?  
  
An hour later, the door opens while you are sitting on the floor amongst sofa cushions, photos removed from their frames, and empty drawers that were turned over, their contents strewn about in no particular order.  
  
It's not odd to you that you don't need to look up to know who it is.  
  
"Whatcha doing?" Harry says, sitting down next to a pile of books.  
  
"Gathering his things, so Dad doesn't have to do it," you reply, briefly looking up at him.  
  
Satisfied that you don't see pity in his eyes, you turn your gaze back downward.  
  
"Oh," he mumbles. "Did you bring boxes?"  
  
You point to a stack of untouched flattened cardboard boxes leaning against the wall near the front door. After a few minutes, Harry picks up a book from the pile.  
  
"Did you go through these?"  
  
When you shake your head, he begins to mimic you, leafing through each page of the book. You finish three more books and see an equal amount on Harry's finished pile.  
  
"Mum always put special things in books," you say, answering his unspoken question. "A flower from a bouquet that Dad brought her or a picture that one of us drew." You shrug. "Don't know why."  
  
"And did she put letters in there too, Ron?"  
  
"Yeah. I found one from her brother once. My Uncle Fabian. It was the last letter he wrote her before 'you-know-who' did him in."  
  
A voice inside of you pleads that he asks. You _need_ him to ask… so that you can feel again. You can't even feel the embarrassment that the rest of your family seems to feel because it's still not real for you. Shame, anything, would feel better than nothing at all.  
  
And he does ask because he doesn't have to deny the truth or feel the shame and you both love him and hate him for it.  
  
"Are you looking for something that Percy might have left behind to explain?"  
  
"Yes." You're still mostly numb, but your chest starts to tighten a little.  
  
"If they didn't find anything the first night, then there probably isn't anything here."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You might never know why."  
  
"I already know why," you correct him softly as the knot draws tighter and more painful.  
  
"Why, Ron?" Harry asks in a voice that implies he knows a bomb is about to go off and he is ready for it.  
  
"Because he… Percy killed himself because he thought he was alone."  
  
And the knot immediately loosens and all the feelings that were beaten down by every lie told sears through your body, leaving open wounds that will someday heal but leave scars that only you will know exist.  
  
Harry waits silently as guilt and shame and sadness and love become rolled up into one huge, unbearable emotion and you lose control, rocking and clutching your hair so tight that when you let go strands stay gripped between your knuckles. Your eyes are clamped shut, but tears still force their way out and down your cheeks, falling on the yellowed pages of the old textbook in your lap.  
  
You know that there is more for you to say and that Harry will listen without judgment or a lecture on how you should or shouldn't feel. But for now you gather your composure and pick up a book and begin to search inside for an answer that you know isn't there, but you need to check nonetheless. Harry doesn't hesitate in focusing his attentions back on the book in his hands, allowing you silence to finally feel your grief.


End file.
